Tuesday, 16 May 2017

Polling Station Rock

Let’s all rock to the polling station,
hop and bop and bump as a nation
back to the seventies. Let’s all wear
cheesecloth shirts and perm our hair,
dig out crombies, Ben Sherman shirts,
leather biker jackets and mini-skirts.

Let’s sleep on the beaches at weekends,
and walk down the road to call for our friends,
have school milk and uni grants for free,
buttered bread with fruit for Sunday tea,
get up to change the telly channel
and wash our faces with a flannel
in a freezing bathroom without a shower.

See hedgerows bursting with wild flowers.

Let’s listen to air waves fading at night
from Radio Luxembourg and Caroline,

dance in the youth club, hang around town,
pockets full of pennies and half crowns,
watch Monty Python and bunk off school;
the ‘Who’ generation that broke all the rules.
There was something in the air, an albatross
flying high with butterflies born at Woodstock.

So let’s get together and rock to the polls
and save the garden and save our souls,
get rid of the Tories and privatisation
and daddy-dance to the polling station!